A Black Tie Affair. [don't read, incomplete, just need to make sure it saves because drafts are being silly]

"They're going to be late," Mickey whined to her companion, peering out the tinted windows of the moderately ostentatious limo, "again."1

"No they won't, baby," Cameron replied coolly, slipping his arm around her and holding her close as she pouted, still peering anxiously out the window.2

Throngs of people were gathering on the sidewalks outside the window. They watched celebrities as they stood with picture perfect smiles plastered on their made up faces or walked gracefully along towards the door or simply as they lined the red carpet that covered the sidewalk's length. Bleachers lined one side of the picturesque carpet, quickly filling with press and passersby. News casters and trashy television show interviewers stood by as well, anxiously waiting along the sides of the carpet readying their microphones, cameras and cameramen. Some of them practiced their faux interview laughs as they waited for their headlines to begin their descents into the theatre.3

"They're always late," she continued, her voice growing dangerously close to a whine, "for your opening, for my last opening, even for dinner when they came over to visit. Always late! It's like they spend all their time just... being late!"4

She was getting flustered, nervous, even. Her voice cracked as she began to ramble, nearly incoherently, nerves she didn't know she possessed rising to the surface and adding to her anxiety. She lifted a hand to her hair, taking a curled lock and twirling it carefully, yet unconsciously, between her neatly manicured fingertips.5

"You know that's just how they are," Cameron replied calmly. He reached out and gently took her hand, as she released the lock of hair, startled slightly and peering down towards her other hand in her lap, still. He held her hand tenderly in his, letting their simple, matching wedding bands clink together as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. She couldn't help but look up into his blueish green eyes and flash a timid smile, one he quickly returned, nodding.6

"They'll be here. And you know that."7

"I know they will," she conceded, biting her lip a bit, "but I wish they were here now. They've had plenty of time to be splendorous... I just want them here, so we can all go in together."8

She sighed again, her gaze darting from her husband's eyes all around her and outside her window. She shifted her legs a bit, allowing the silky, yellow fabric of her dress to cover her ankles as she did so, adjusting herself to lean her head on her husband's shoulder. Her nearly black hair, curled for the occasion, mingled with Cam's black formal wear and he put his arm around her, holding her close. Closing her eyes for a moment or two, they sat that way in silence, Cam closing his eyes as well. Mickey sat up suddenly with a gasp, though, startling her previously calm counterpart as her eyes widened to never before seen proportions.9

"What? What? What with the gasping?!" Cam said surprisedly as Mickey's head jerked up from his shoulder.10

"What if they're still deciding what to wear?!" she exclaimed in almost complete terror, "I mean, this is something completely different! They obviously didn't know what to wear for the last," she counted on her fingers, only half-joking, "three? four openings? They think that anything with sparkles is nice enough!"11

Cam only laughed. "Don't worry, hun. I told them what was acceptable this time; I knew we weren't taking any chances, so, I told them," he said soothingly, adding on with a slight change in tone, "They... They even said they knew exactly what to wear."12

Mickey grimaced a bit, obviously not comforted by this thought, perhaps even further worried.13

"Besides," Cam added, "their sparkles always look nice, anyway."14

He winked in her direction and she let out a playful squeal as he placed a kiss on her forehead.15

[x]16

I elbowed Paul's side gently while he adjusted his hair in the bathroom mirror for what seemed the hundredth or so time. The blonde hair fell quite perfectly over one of his eyes, covering it just enough to make his 'emo' look almost believable. The red tips that we had so painstakingly put in just a few weeks earlier had all but washed out and his hair was just barely tinted with a pinkish hue.17

"Mooooove," I whined, my uncapped eyeliner in hand as I tried to inch my way further into the mirror's reflection; there was just never a mirror big enough for the both of us to share. I poked at his side as he reached for one of the assorted products we'd spread across the sink, unperturbed, "Paul, sweetie, we both know you're pretty, okay? Now let those of us who aren't naturally so have a go at the mirror, yes?"18

He laughed a little and took a half step to his side, looking over at me in the mirror, "You're pretty, too, lovecakes, and you know it."19

"Lying's not flattering, honey," I replied, simply, "it'll give you wrinkles." I tried to wink with little success, letting out a faux sigh as Paul giggled, mussing his hair once again.20

I quickly applied my eyeliner, the only makeup I ever really bothered with, and we both stood in the mirror for another solid fifteen minutes, making sure we looked as fabulous as we could muster in the moment, but, of course, we always found something more we could add. Continuing our primping, I reached across my companion to steal some of the glittery hairspray in the bright purple bottle. It was one of our coveted possessions, but we never seemed to have any at hand, and as I sprayed it over the both of us, my eyes widened.21

"How did we get this?"
Paul broke out into a devilish grin and he shrugged in an "I know, but pretend I don't, kay?" way. I didn't question any more, but smiled and finished out the half full bottle, nearly drenching us both n sparkles. Normally, before events like this or even of less stature, things like glitter spray were confiscated from the both of us; not this time, oh no.22

We stood before the mirror for at least twenty minutes more, sparkling and primping, assuring that our fabulous wouldn't fade in the next several hours, nor rub off when we got ourselves dressed, which we, of course, then proceeded to do. We danced sillily out of the large hotel bathroom and into the main room of the suite, bouncing and sashaying to the music constantly playing in our heads, sometimes even singing along, no matter how differently our brains were singing. The main room of the temporary abode had been made our home since we'd been there, clothing and assorted things strewn about nearly as haphazardly as in our much smaller apartment back home. On every surface there were clothes, our suitcases sprawled open and overflowing onto the floor.23

We got dressed pretty quickly, cheering when we were each fully clothed as it wasn't something that happened often, ever happened, really. However, we had all but exhausted our clothing resources, another rarity; we never liked to re-wear our outfits within a week, they were far too epic and we were sure they'd blow people away. Mostly, though, it was because we already knew what we were going to wearing today; we'd been planning these outfits for weeks, scrutinizing accessories and fits, assuring that every detail was perfect. Each day we tried on our outfits, assuring that they still looked as fabulous as we'd intended, and we even held our own mini-photo shoots to see which days they looked best. We were far more coordinated for this day than we had been in the entire course of our friendship, and we each knew it; we had even bought ourselves new shoelaces.24

"Ready, pookie?" I sang out as I tied a final bow on my right shoe.25

"Just about, lovely," came Paul's reply. His soft, clear voice rang equally as sing-song-y as mine had, and a smile built underneath the light jingle of what he said as he slid his shoes the rest of the way on, tying neat little bows before standing up to adjust.26

We both looked at each other and smiles immediately erupted on our sparkling faces as we looked one another up and down. We seemed to have that effect on each other and we had since the beginning of our friendship. It had started with simply smiles erupting when we got to talking for hours, but as we progressed into our wholehearted feelings of love, it became an almost immediate reaction to simply seeing the other one. Even if we had been together for entire days and spoken continuously, as we always did, we couldn't help but smile and remember just how much we really did love each other. We'd quickly advanced through the ranks of friendship towards adoration and finally into where we stood today, in our stage of unending and slightly indescribable love that we simply forced others to accept. People came to see us as a single entity, and we came to be unable to see our lives without the other, and our troupe of lovelies simply accepted it. But, alas, I digress.27

Taking two steps back, we each grabbed our final accessories from the table beside the door, tucking them quickly into our pockets and skipping the third step towards the closed door.
"Final check?" I questioned, hand on the doorknob just about ready to step out.
"Check," Paul replied, quickly looking me up and down, while I did the same.
"Fucking. Epic."28

We both nodded in unison, and we knew it was true; we always looked good, but when we looked this good... even we couldn't help but marvel a little.29

As we headed down the hall people eyed us in all our snazziness, and our grins grew; we liked to make a scene. This wasn't even half the fun that the day would be, though, and at the thought, our grins definitely grew to unflattering proportions as we squeaked along the linoleum in our freshly cleaned shoes.30

"I've got rhythm..." I began singing quietly as I skipped along the hallway towards the elegant staircase, for one simply couldn't take an elevator when dressed as we were. I held my hat in my hand, humming and walking to the rhythm, singing a bit more, "I've got music..."31

I gestured to Paul with my hat as if he were to sing the next line and he looked as though he was on the fence about singing along, I knew this wasn't his favorite song, though usually I didn't remember what it actually was without asking, but I was pretty sure that, this time, my choice was far more suiting than "The Girl From Ipanema" or "Our Love Is Here To Stay." And, of course, I knew Paul, and I knew he wouldn't just let me be a fool on my own, or, if he would, he wouldn't resist the chance to sing along publicly.32

Rolling his eyes with a growing smile, he went along with me, skipping towards the stairs as well, and linking arms with me as we headed down the first of several flights of stairs towards the lobby of the large hotel. As we came nearer to the ground floor, we had finished the song and had been arguing over what to sing next, but the landing decided it for us as we set foot onto the plush carpet of the elegant lobby. I peered at Paul's watch as he slunk his arm out from intertwined with mine.33

"You'll never believe what we just did for the first time ever," I said, eyes wide.
"Broke the time-space continuum?"
"Well, that, too, but, no."
"Awakened ancient spirits with our whimsical voices?"
"Clearly," I replied, nodding, "but, also? We got here before the car."34

I pointed outside the large front window at the empty spot for taxis to pull up; we were a good, solid fifteen minutes early for our pickup. We giggled as we plopped ourselves down on the couches in the spacious lobby. We had been instructed, several times, too, to wait for the already arranged car that would take us to meet Mickey and Cam. It would only be the second time we'd seen them this entire week we'd been here, they were the busiest kids on the block, even when we came around. We were obstacles, sometimes, having to be planned for, and around and meticulously inched into already cramped schedules. But, we loved Mickey and Cam, and we were almost positive they loved us back, because every time we came around, there was a dinner together and at least one other get together, as well as tons of childish activities planned for us so that we wouldn't simply creep about making bad names for ourselves.(The rumors from that one time were still looming about...) Sometimes, though, they'd just squeeze us in whenever they could so that we could see them, to make sure they were alive and well, happy, even; besides, we all knew that Sarah and Paul pouting an entire trip home to New York would be a bad idea for all involved.35

However, no matter what was planned for us, we'd always miss the first few minutes, and our timeliness was always a concern, especially when the fame became a real deal. Mickey and Cam both felt that the best way to deal with, if not improve, for they'd tried that and failed, would be to provide our way to wherever we were going that day; the cars. They were a brilliant plan, keeping us in line and getting us where we needed to be without being lost or distracted. Even with them, though, sometimes we managed to make several loops around the city before arriving at our destination, and, before we even got into some of the cars, we'd driven drivers to countless honking. Our primping and preparing was far more important than their sanity, we reasoned. No matter how early Mickey and Cam sent these guys for us, we were always fashionably late for wherever we were going. That is, except today, we'd decided. Today we couldn't afford to be late this plan was far too perfect for even our splendorousness to get in the way.36

Humming to myself as I sat on the sinking couch, careful not to muss my clothing or carefully undone hair, I fiddled with the buttons on my shirt, Paul trying to perfect his impeccable hair again and mussing with his shirt and a crease that just wouldn't come out of his pants. As he finally ceased adjusting, finally achieving perfection again, his face seemed to wrinkle into a half grimace, half pout, and I knew immediately something was amiss, my predictions solidified as he began to bite his lip gently, eyes darting quickly from me to the stairs and back again.37

"Fuck," he muttered, finally after much deliberation.
"What?" I said, returning his nearly empty gaze.
"My hat," he mumbled quietly and somewhat sadly, puffing out his bottom lip.
"Your hat," I answered, "What about it?"
"It's upstairs..."
"Upstairs?" I questioned flatly.
He nodded sadly, eyes fixated on a spot of carpet just between his feet that now rested on the floor as he sat up in his seat on the couch.
"Up the six or more flights of stairs, upstairs?"
He nodded again.
"You mean, upstairs where we just came from, upstairs?"
"Yeeeeees," he whined, "that very same upstairs is the upstairs where my hat is now sitting all alone on the counter. By itself. Alone."
He emphasized each word as if trying to make me feel bad for his hat, and his eyes wandered from the stare he had been giving me to my hat, which I clutched closer in my lap as I noted his contemplative expression. He sighed, slouching into the couch.38

I scooched over to him on the couch, and poked his side gently, "Go on and get it, then! We both know, sir, that if you and I don't look positively fabulous, we'll never be forgiven! Well, I mean, by me, anyway. But, look," I said, biting my nail, and peering out the window at the plain black car that pulled up slowly in front of the lobby, "the car just pulled up. You have almost twenty minutes before we're actually late." (We had taken a day and figured out just how much earlier than necessary Mickey and Cam sent us the cars.)39

He peered up at me from beneath his lashes, hesitating, and I knew he was going to ask me to go with him and he knew I was a pushover; we never liked to be alone.40

"No," I said immediately to his pleading eyes, "no, no, no, no, no, and again NO. I am not walking back up those stairs to get your hat; I remembered mine."41

He pouted, sticking his lip out cutely in hopes to reawaken the pushover in me, but for once I held strong... or, tried.42

"NO," I said more to myself than him, for he still wasn't saying anything, turning myself on the couch to avoid the look.43

"Fine," he finally huffed, stomping off in the direction of the elevator, "don't leave without me, then. Hmph."
"Wouldn't dream of it, lovely," I sang back smiling at his scowling face as he headed up to the room as quickly as he could, adding a mature foot stomp just for emphasis.44

I laughed to myself, curling up neatly in the couch's pillows, still peering out the window at the car of the day, and, more importantly, the driver of the day. He looked like a nice enough guy, a small older gentleman with a big ol' pair of spectacles, for they simply couldn't be called glasses, and thinning gray hair. He wore a light blue suit with a striped shirt and a fancy pair of saddle shoes that I wasn't aware they still made, and he constantly adjusted his glasses on his nose, every few minutes taking them off to wipe on a little clothe he kept in his front pocket. He looked as if his name should have been Sal or Morty, something like that; he was smiling in the empty car, bopping his head slowly to some tunes, I guessed. Surely he'd been alerted as to our tendencies for tardiness, so he relaxed a few minutes in, placing his hands behind his head and eyes most likely closed behind the thick spectacles. He turned the engine off in front of the lobby, letting the car sit while he awaited our arrival.45

I watched Sal from my spot on the couch, fiddling with my hat in my lap and staring awkwardly into the distance. I knew Paul would get distracted with something upstairs, be it his hair, something in the wrong place, maybe something he could do to spruce up his outfit, though it was hard to improve on perfection, but, no matter the case, he was gone for a solid ten minutes during which I wrote stories in my head as to every action Sal made, big or little. As Paul finally emerged from the stairwell door, Sal had begun to dance, but Paul had hat in hand and huge grin upon his face as he sauntered over towards me.46

"Finally," I screamed as he crossed the wide expanse of the lobby, "our savior emerges from the great stairwell of life! He is resurrected!"47

I dropped to my knees in front of the couch I had been sitting on, kneeling in Paul's direction and scooching closer, eyes of all in the lobby suddenly on us. I added, "the lord! He approaches!" as Paul finally neared my spot, now in the center of the lobby looking up as if praying.48

"And damn does he look good," he added, matching my yell, and adding a wink that sent us both into fits of giggles as the majority of the people rolled their eyes at us, knowing full well who we were; Mickey and Cam's fame had brought us an almost equal share.49

"So we can go now?" I asked, getting up from where I had sunk to my knees in reverence, and, grabbing Paul's wrist bearing hand, I added, "we might even make it before it starts if we go now."50

"Really?" Paul replied, setting his hat on a neat angle angle atop his head, the two of us walking in tandem towards the door of the lobby.51

"I know, right?" I replied with equal amounts of shock as we strolled towards the door, several eyes on us in all our glory.52

As we reached the door, we turned to face the lobby once more, clasping our hands together and taking one unified bow. We raised our intertwined hands above our heads triumphantly before dropping into two very ostentatious bows, each muttering our, "I'd like to thank the academy..." before we slipped out the door, obviously still smiling.53

Sal remained in the same position as I had last seen him, and we were both immediately glad that he wasn't like Fred, whose real name was Marty. He had left us stranded before Mickey's last movie premiere when we were five minutes later than our normal late. Sal had stayed, though we were early for... being us. He even looked pretty content as we knocked on the front door window to alert him that we were ready.54

"Are you two Sarah and Paul?" he questioned curiously, rolling down the passenger side window to reveal our smiling faces. We both leaned into the passenger seat window, waving.55

"None other!" we sang in response, smiling at Sal's stereotypical Jewish voice as well as his large spectacles that he perched up higher on his noise as he sniffled a bit. He pulled a tissue from his sleeve, and Paul and I suppressed our giggles as he blew his nose, just barely peeking over the steering wheel.56

"Alright, hop in. If we skedaddle right now, we MIGHT beat the traffic."57

"Shotgun!" We both called as we reached immediately for the door to the front seat, Paul's larger hands beating mine out of the way with ease.58

He stuck his tongue out at me as I slid into the back seat with a pout, and Sal shook his head as a parent would, waiting patiently for us to buckle our seat belts so we could get going down the busy Hollywood streets.59

[x]60

"Baby doll," Cam whispered to his wife, glancing at his watch as he slipped his arm around her once more.61

"Hmm?" she replied, eyes still focused out the limousine window at the crowds, still growing into the streets, colliding with limousines, taxis and assorted cars or buses. Each carried a different degree of celebrity, and some simply held fans, but each filled the wide street a bit more until it was simply a mess of a grid of black and white.62

"We might need to head out soon," he said, peering over her shoulder to see out the wide window as well, eyeing the news crews as they grew dangerously impatient. The biggest star, Mickey, of course, remained reluctant to step onto the red carpet and they each wanted to be the first to know why.63

"But, but, you said they wouldn't be late! I hate going out before they're here..." Mickey whined, turning in her seat to face her husband.64

He took her hands into his again, her slim fingers fitting picturesquely in his larger hands, almost as if he were holding the hand of a porcelain doll. He placed one hand over her small left hand, letting his palm meet the delicate engagement ring, the only jewelry she wore on her hands. Gently, he placed a kiss just above the clear, neat little heart shaped stone. Mickey smiled, her nerves calmed only slightly even as Cam smiled in return.65

"Baby," he said finally, releasing her hand, "I'm slightly offended that wasn't enough," he winked, "but if that's the case..."66

He reached beneath the seat he sat in and pulled out a tall purple bottle that Mickey immediately recognized.67

"How did you get it?" she questioned, "and does this mean that they don't have any?"
"You betcha, babe," he nodded, "but it always does wonders for their confidence, so..."
He took the bottle back from her hands and spritzed a fine mist of the glittery spray and it came out lightly dusting the already glowing star with a shimmer of pixie dust, it seemed.68

"You know they'll be here," he added, though, whispering as Mickey's smile grew to new proportions, "the camera crews want their time with you before the show starts, though, sweetie."69

Mickey sighed, and eyed her husband, still bearing his knowing half smile.70

"Fiiiiiine," she huffed, gathering the silky yellow lengths of the dress in her hand, readying herself to scoot out of the limousine.71

"They'll be here," he said again surely as he popped the door open, "you know they wouldn't miss the splendor for all the glitter and pretty words in the world."72

She giggled at just how true it was, and slid over towards the door following her husband. Reaching out into the screaming sea of fans, she took Cam's hand in hers once again as he helped her onto her ridiculously high heeled feet.73

The screams only grew as she emerged from the limousine, letting her yellow gown grace the rest of her legs as she dropped the folds of the fabric from her hands. It fell about her ankles and the bright lengths of silk trailing behind her as she took a few careful steps, drawing the looks of all in the area. She braced herself on her husband's tuxedo clad arm, taking a few more cautious steps along the beginnings of the carpet, heading reluctantly towards the crowds who so desperately screamed her name.74

She ambled as gracefully as she could towards the first of the line of reporters, silently cursing Paul and Sarah for convincing her that heels were necessary at awards shows. She and her husband bore picturesque smiles as countless photos of the ideal Hollywood couple were snapped from all directions.75

"Okay, only a little more," Cam whispered to her with a chuckle, "those heels will not defeat you!"
She groaned, barely audibly, the bright smile on her lightly made up face never wavering, "I hate them, I hate them, I hate them, I hate them."
"But you do look gorgeous," Cam whispered in her ear, placing a kiss on her neck as he helped her along the last few steps to the first reporter, who seemed, by far, the most anxious to speak with the couple.76

"And, here they are," the reporter said with far too much enthusiasm in the direction of the camera, "Hollywood's favorite sweethearts, Mikelle and Cameron! And, my, aren't they looking lovelier than usual tonight. It looks like you two are shining!"77

Mickey and Cam smiled once more, eyeing each other with a grin and nodding to the over-dressed woman facing them. Her blonde hair was in a complex up-do, separating it from her gaudy red gown, and her bright red lipstick shone in a sick contrast to the black of the microphone. She stood with her back to the street, not noticing as it filled even over capacity with crowds and traffic. In the back of her mind, Mickey pictured her two friends stuck in the mess, questioning their cab driver on what to wear as they fiddled with suitcases that should have already been packed, but she quickly tried to shake the thought from her head as she approached the smiling reporter.78

"Mikelle," the reporter began immediately, "first off, how have you been? This is the first we've seen of you since your movie premiere, and we've all been wondering why you've been hiding out. You've clearly got no reason to!"79

She glanced noticeably for the camera at Mickey's beautifully curled, dark hair falling gently over her bare shoulders. The thin tie of her yellow gown was held together in a neat bow at the nape of her neck, and beneath the tie lay several of her favorite necklaces, each falling just below the other and laying perfectly with the just-deep-enough neckline of her ensemble. The silver chains led directly into the swirling silver sparkles of the designs on the bodice of her dress, running just along her slim figure all the way down the skirt of the dress in which her petite frame swam. Her whole body was shining beneath a skin of shimmering silver-yellow.80

The reporter continued to stare, perhaps unintentionally, until Cam jumped in.81

"Well, Amy," he replied, taking a guess at her name and sighing in silent relief when she responded, "Mick and I have been a little busy lately. Our good friends are in town for the show and we've, of course, got to spend time with them, and family to be seen, and..."82

Mickey giggled as Cam made eye contact with her, "other things," she added, playfully.83

The reporter chuckled as well, asking a few more routine questions before the couple began their descent into the crowds, Mickey limping visibly in her heels, Cam supporting her as best he could.84

"Ugh," Mickey finally groaned, stopping amid the crowd on the carpet, all cameras immediately focusing on her, the issue unclear.
"What? What is it?"
"These heels! They've won! I surrender," she wailed jokingly, leaning over and slipping them off her feet, painted toenails emerging from their enclosure as she placed her feet flat on the carpet. Shoes in hand, she sighed, "so much better. And this carpet's soft, too. Who would've thunk it?"85

Several cameras turned to Mickey as she held her shoes in her hand, swinging them over one shoulder as she wound her other slender arm about Cam's. She walked much more easily now, nearly skipping as her curls bounced along her neck as she bounced along the line of reporters towards the door.86

Amy reviewed her footage at the beginning of the line, a puzzled look sprouting on her face when she noted Cam's knowledge of her name.
"Amy," her cameraman nudged, eyes locked on the street crowded with cars.
"Mmhmm?" she replied, still reviewing the footage on the camera's small screen.
"They're here."87

[x]88

Sal drove as if he truly could barely see over the steering wheel, but he was determined to make good time he reminded us as he honked loudly and screamed seemingly uncharacteristic profanities out the window. Each time he rolled his window down, Paul and I began giggling immediately as he scrunched his spectacles up the bridge of his nose and let loose a strongly Jewish accented obscenity; he always followed with an equally subtle transition back to telling us about his grandchildren as he drove us quickly through the crowding streets to the big event.89

As Sal had predicted, the streets were beginning to crowd and traffic was building up before us; we hadn't skedaddled quickly enough to beat the traffic. Paul fiddled with the radio in the front seat while I tapped my foot anxiously, both of us keeping an eye on the small digital clock that sat just above the ancient looking radio dials. It read "LATE," to us, at least, nearly yelling that we were cutting this far too close for comfort, and, as Sal drew dangerously nearer to the car in front of ours, we could tell that action would have to be taken. Action always needed to be taken in our case.90

"Psst," I whispered quietly, nudging the passenger seat in front of me with my knee. He fiddled with the radio for a few more seconds through my persistent nudging, finally turning with a knowing look at me.
"Time?" he questioned in a highly official, half-whisper.91

I pressed a finger to my ear, repeating the perfected static of my invisible ear piece, "Aye, roger that, matey."
"Really, Sarah? Really?" he questioned quietly, to no notice of Sal.
"Yarrgh? It just came out," I answered, shifting my eyes, "roll with it?"